


31 Days of Horror

by Dragon_King



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Death, Depression, F/F, Fucked-up shit, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hallucinations, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Insanity, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Obsessions, Pain, People Eating, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Stalking, Suicide, Torture, no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_King/pseuds/Dragon_King
Summary: From cannibalism to going insane, here are 31 horror stories I had written for Halloween. I know it's not Halloween anymore, but better late than never, right?
Relationships: Origional Female Character/Origional Female Character(One Sided)
Kudos: 2





	1. Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote these during Halloween on my Wattpad account, but then I realized that more people would read them if I posted them on here. These aren't for the faint of heart and if you get triggered easily, please remove yourself from these stories and find something kinder to read, like a story about a happy little elf.  
> That's a 'Series of Unfortunate Events' reference for the ones who didn't catch it.

Trigger Warning!: If you don't like excessive gore, rape, and gross things, please don't read. This story contains explicit sexual content and rape elements. You have been warned.

* * *

"Shh..." Her voice whispered in my ear. Her long, tooth bitten nail trailed down my neck, pulling at the wet skin. Blood slowly trickled down my jaw. Thin rivets of blood wetted my torn shirt collar. My pulse hammered in my throat. Her naked skin was hanging off her bones, like a blanket of flesh carelessly thrown over a skeleton. Her thin, wiry hair that was more like string than anything brushed over my nose, and I gagged at the rancid smell she gave off. My bloodied stub of a wrist throbbed with excruciating pain. My hand laid off somewhere to the side. I didn't know where.

"You're not playing this right." She said. She sounded like a child, pouting when she didn't get the toy she wanted, but her teeth, the ones that were left, were bared in an angry snarl. "You're not doing this right." She ripped herself away from me, pacing back and forth, muttering to herself. Her wrinkled skin, covered in feces, blood, and vomit, rippled around her. Bile rose in my throat when she picked up my severed hand and began peppering it with kisses.

"If only you had played along." She said in her soft, whispery tone. "This wouldn't have happened." She stopped kissing my hand, and trailed the cold fingers down her body. I cringed and looked away when she pushed the fingers between her legs. Her loud moans made the bile in my throat surge again, and I vomited all over the floor. She laughed and giggled at my reaction, removing the hand.

"Open up, darling~." She moved closer, taking her horrible odor with her, forced my jaw open, and shoved the wet, disgusting fingers in my mouth. Her black eyes gleamed with joy when the nails scraped up against my throat. The putrid taste made me vomit again around the fingers. She kept pushing the fingers back against my throat, never relenting. Tears streamed down my face as the pressure against my throat tightened from both my cold, dead fingers and the vomit that continued to push against my mouth. She finally pulled the fingers out, and the vomiting finally slowed. My mouth tasted disgusting, and the tears never stopped.

"There there. Relax. It's okay." She petted at my head, but it only made me feel more disgusting. "I think we've had enough preparations."

 _'Preparations?'_ What preparations? What was happening next? _'Oh god, please no. I don't want- I can't-'_ Something rough and leathery was shoved into my mouth. I gagged at the sudden feeling.

"Hush... hush..." she lulled. "You don't want to drop it. The sharp end won't feel good if it hurts you." Was it a knife? Is that what she had used to cut my hand off? My head swam and I felt my vision fading in and out. I wanted to push the knife out. My jaw hurt and I just wanted to sleep. I turned my head to the side and pushed it out. I tried to move my arm, but pain laced up through my veins. I tried to move my legs, but they were too broken to do anything.

The knife tumbled from my mouth and clattered to the ground next to me. It poked against my dirty jeans, pressing dangerously close against my skin. It didn't matter. The likelihood of me surviving this might as well have been zero. I was terrified, yes, but the fear had been pushed aside by hopelessness. I was going to die.

"I told you to keep it in your mouth." She snarled. She picked up the knife again, prying my mouth open once more to shove the hilt inside. I tried to struggle this time, moving my head out of her grasp, using my one good hand to push at her hands.

"Stop struggling!" Her voice had taken on a desperate edge. "Stop it!" She pushed my hand away, forced it on the wooden floor, and stabbed through it with the knife. All thoughts were erased as the white-hot, mind-numbing pain exploded through my system. I screamed and cried, but no one heard me. Or no one paid attention. In this place of misery and psychos, screams were something everyone had grown used to. No one would even think twice. That didn't stop me. I kept screaming. I screamed for anyone to save me. For anyone to just come into this room and find me. I screamed until my vocal cords gave out. I didn't need to see them to know that they were shredded. It hurt. It hurt more than the knife in my hand. I didn't know how long I had been here. I forgot who I was. All I knew was that she liked seeing me in pain. She liked seeing the tears stream down my face. She liked seeing the blood pool from my mouth. It excited her. She jumped with joy and excitement everytime the salty water spilled from my aching eyes.

At some point, I don't know when my tear ducts ran dry and I couldn't cry anymore. She didn't like that. She begged for me to cry. She begged and begged and begged until the begging turned to shouting and the shouting turned to her pulling the blood-stained knife from my hand, and thrusting it into my eyes.

"Cry! Come on, just a little! Just a little bit!" She laughed historically the whole time. My mouth fell open with silent screams. The pain was more than anything I could handle. When would it end? When would all of this just be over?

With my sight and ability to speak gone, with my legs broken and hand taken away, I was merely a husk. I was just laid against the wall. Slouched low enough to be sprawled on the floor. I could feel her hands on me. I could feel her shoving things into my mouth, forcing my to chew, then giving me no other choice but to swallow. This went on for God knows how long, until the door slammed open. She started screeching and shouting for whoever was there to go away. I just rolled my head to better hear what was happening, but there was only her voice. Loud and penetrating in my ears.

The noise was cut short at the sound of splitting flesh. There was a splash of something hot against my cheek and the sudden noise of a shrill shriek and disturbed laughing. I opened my mouth to call out, straining against my destroyed vocal cords, but nothing came out. I heard soft footsteps come closer. They stopped and I felt air brush against my head. I listened carefully to the sound of clothes shifting came closer. And a hot breath whispered in my ear.

"Welcome to Insanity."


	2. Hunger

Trigger Warning!: If you don't like people eating and cannibalism, don't read. You have been warned. 

* * *

The music pulsed in my ears. Hot and sweaty bodies pushed up against me and I pushed back. It was too cramped and crowded in the gym. Too loud. Too many people here in this too-small room. 

"Do you wanna go somewhere else?" An all too familiar voice whispered in my ear. I jerked away from the voice and turned around with furrowed brows. 

"Leave me alone, Turner. I already said I didn't want to be your date." My throat stung. I was thirsty and starving and I didn't want to drink from the possible spiked punch bowl. 

"Oh, come on, Blake. It's not like you had anyone else to go with." His smile was devilish. Not in a handsome or good-looking way, but in a way that made me want to throw up.

"Because I didn't _want_ to go with anyone but my friends." I pushed his outstretched hand away from me. 

"And where are your friends now? Off with their own dates. Wouldn't it be rude to bother them while they're having a good time?"

"That doesn't mean I want to dance with you. Leave me alone, you creep." He was disgusting. His whole personality made me sick to my stomach. 

I swerved through the crowd before he could say anything else. I pushed people aside to get through the ever-growing sea of people. I just needed to get away from him. 

As the hour went on, Turner didn't bother me again. I was free to talk to whoever I wanted to without him looming over my shoulder the whole way. It felt amazing. The gym was still too crowded for my taste, but I didn't let it get to me too much. I just wanted to have fun. 

Another hour went by, and Turner was still nowhere to be seen. I didn't care. I didn't give it another thought. I didn't give _him_ another thought. That is- until a shrill scream ripped through the air. Like we were all being mind-controlled, everyone looked to where we had heard the sound at the same time. There was a girl, wearing a poofy black dress, waving her red-covered hands in the air, screaming the whole way. Tears were streaming down her face as she collapsed into another one of her friends. They were all trying to calm her down while avoiding the red at her hands. 

"Becca, what's wrong? What's all over your hands? Where did you go?!" Her friend, a girl named Ashley, asked, but Becca couldn't get her words out passed all the whimpering and tears. 

"The library-... bl-blood-... he-he-..." She broke off with a choke and covered her face. The red on her hands smeared over it. 

"The library? Who's 'he'?" Ashley tried to press, but Becca didn't answer. 

"Someone call the police. I'm going to check it out." Ashely's date Jacob moved out from behind her and excited the gym, walking across the hall to the gym. I followed behind him, a few more people walking with me.

We wandered through the bookshelves until we found his body. His face was still intact, but his stomach had been ripped open, ribs bones exposed to the elements. Bits of flesh and blood clung to the otherwise white bones. Organs and tendons were lying carelessly outside the body. Turner's heart was visible, unmoving, and flat in his broken in rib cage. I heard gasps behind me, my own matching theirs. 

Turner's face was open into an expression of horror. His mouth was open and still leaking blood, though most of it was dried. Intestines spilled from his stomach onto the floor. The smell was something retched, and multiple people had to leave. One person threw up all over the floor. 

"The police are on their way! They said-" the boy who had called the police stopped when he saw Turner's corpse. His face went almost as white as Turner's. 

"Let's go outside," Jacob said in a low voice. Still, everyone heard him - no one disagreed - and filed outside.

"They said they'd be here in ten minutes." The boy told Jacob in a low whisper. Jacob just nodded and pushed me out the doors along with everyone else. 

"Keep walking, Blake." I walked outside with them all, stepping out into the crisp night air and shivering, wishing I had brought a thicker jacket. 

Everyone was conversing among themselves. Talking about what had happened and how it could've happened. I slipped from the crowd and behind the school. No one even noticed. 

I walked into the woods. Under the full moon, I could see the light pink that stained my arms. No one else had seen it, not even Jacob. I remembered the warm taste of meat and flesh and blood on my tongue. 

I fell to the ground, arms wrapped around my body, mouth already pooling with saliva once more. I still felt the euphoria of the hot blood exploding in my mouth, almost like popping a cherry, but so, _so_ much better. My body tingled with warmth and a shiver raced up my spine. The short gasps of horror and small shrieks of pain were always my favorite part.

That feeling. That feeling of warmth and tender flesh falling apart between my teeth was better than anything else in the world.

It cured the worst feelings of Hunger.


	3. Feed

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains murder, gore, cannabilism, and lots of blood. If you don't feel comfortable with any of these things, please don't read. You have been warned. 

* * *

I cried out as the blade sunk into my skin. Blood leaked from my collar bone and dripped slowly -tauntingly- onto the floor. My parent's dead bodies lay just a few feet away, strapped down to chairs surrounding by pools of blood. Their throats were slit, necks caked in red as the loose, meaty flesh stuck out. The cuts were so deep that the white neck bone was peaking through the dark crimson. I didn't want to look at the horrific scene before me, but there was nowhere for me to look. They were right in front of me, and with my head stuck in place. I couldn't look away.

"Shh! Shh! Don't cry!" The woman cooed. "It's all right! Look, they're smiling." She moved away from me and strutted closer to my parents. She grasped the backs of their heads and yanked them up by their hair. She had been so rough with them, I heard the sounds of hair ripping. I cringed at the sound, trying to look away but to no avail, the traps holding my head in place were too tight.

"Look!" She shrieked. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to just run away. "LOOK!!" She screamed again, louder this time. I let out a loose, wet sob and opened my eyes slowly. My eyes locked on the limp corpses of my parents. Their eye sockets were empty, meaty skin framed the holes. Blood leaked down into open mouths cut into bloody smiles, making them look like the Joker or Jeff the Killer. Blood still dripped from their mouths. Down their chin and speckling onto their clothes. 

"They didn't cry for me." She pouted. "I wanted them to cry for me, but they just... wouldn't. Adults can be very fickle, you know." She let go of their heads, and their chins smacked against their still chests. She moved around their bodies and closer to me. When she was so close that we were practically touching noses, she let out soft, whispery words. 

"You played the game, though. You did _everything_ just right." She trailed her fingers down my jaw. I tried to jerk away again, but all I could do was make my throat hitch. 

"Please-" I choked out. "Please, let me go." The woman's face broke out into a large smile. 

"Yes! Yes! That's exactly it! Cry! Beg! Ooh~ it sends shivers down my spine." She hugged herself, face pink with a warm blush. Her face went slack then like she had just realized something. 

"Oh! I almost forgot; there's something I want you to try." Her face broke out with another smile as she moved away from me and closer to the two corpses in front of me. She took the knife in her hands and began slicing at my parent's skin. I kept crying, pushing tears out in hopes of not making her angry; it wasn't hard. My collar hurt in pulsating bursts. I couldn't do anything but watch as this psychotic woman sliced meat and fleshed off my parent's corpses and put them into a small pile in her hand, slice after slice after slice after slice...- when she was satisfied, she placed the knife down and patted my father's head. 

"Thank you, Mr. Willson." She said, and placed a long kiss on his torn mouth, smearing blood over both of their faces. I wanted to throw up but fought to keep my stomach under control. I didn't want to make her angry again. I just wanted to get out. 

She turned back to me with a predatorial smile. I began to jerk more now, but it wasn't anything more than small shuffles. 

"Oh, darling, darling. It's all right; I think you're going to like this." With one hand, she clasped my jaw with strong, yet gentle, fingers to stop me from moving any more. She squeezed my jaw until my mouth was forced open. She took a piece of dead flesh and carefully forced it into my mouth. I tried to clamp my teeth closed, but she pried them apart with her fingers. 

"Don't fight it, darling. You'll like it if you just give it a try." I could see her kind expression beginning to shift into something more impatient. "Open up!" She barked, still smiling and shoving the meat into my mouth. More tears flooded from my eyes and when the raw flesh touched my tongue, vomit and stomach-acid surged up from my stomach. It splattered all over my front and pooled in my lap. It was disgustingly warm and squishy.

She frowned at me, but never took her now vomit-covered hands from my mouth.

"Oh, darling. Can't you do better for me? Can't you just have a taste?" She finally pulled her hand away, taking the meat with her, only to fold it up and push it back into my mouth.

"Maybe it was just too big for you." She said it like it was a simple observation. "Maybe... it just needed to be easier for you to bite through."

"No, please! Stop!" I sobbed around the flesh and her fingers. "I don't- I d-" my words were cut short with sobs. I didn't want this, but I couldn't get the syllables out.

"Hush, I completely understand." She petted my hair all the way down to my shoulders. "The texture is weird at first, but as soon as you bite down, you'll like it. I promise." And without another word, she took her fingers out of my mouth and forced my jaw up to bite down. It wasn't until I bit down on my own tongue along with the flesh of my dead parents, my mouth flooding with blood, did I realize that I could've bitten her fingers while they were in my mouth. But what would that have done? No one knew what was happening, no one knew that I was sitting directly across from my murdered parents, forced to eat their own skin.

She continued to force my jaw up and down until the meat was nothing more than mashed up sludge in my mouth. I felt the urge to vomit again, but nothing came out. She loosened the straps around my head enough for my head to tilt up and make the sludge slide down my throat. I could taste the blood and raw meat in my mouth. Small bits still clung to my teeth and inner cheeks. I tried swallowing again to get them out as her hand was covering my mouth. I had no other choice. The rest of it tumbled down my throat until my mouth was empty.

This went on for days. She forced my parent's skin into my mouth until they were almost nothing more than skeletons and guts. The smell was horrible. _I_ smelled horrible. The house was almost unbearably hot and the smell was beginning to rise and fill the room until I gagged. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted to die. 

A few more days went by, and I could feel something begin to change. My mouth filled with saliva whenever I looked at my parents, which was constantly. Spit drooled from my mouth when I saw the skin clinging to their bones. I thought of the smooth flesh that slid down my throat with ease. The blood that filled my mouth like when you take a bite of ice cream and it immediately melts in your mouth.

I wanted to Feed.


	4. Mouthful

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood, gore, and spiders. If you're uncomfortable with _any_ of these things, please don't read.

* * *

The hypothesis of swallowing spiders in your sleep has never been true... right?

* * *

They spilled from my mouth, long legs poking and stabbing at my tongue, teeth, and inner cheek. It was an endless stream of spiders falling from my mouth. I gagged and wretched, trying to push the rest of them out, but it never stopped. 

Tears streamed down my face, snot dripped onto the black river of spiders. 

I wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop?!

"Urk!- Gaugh-" I tried to speak, to scream, to beg around them, but all that came out was muffled gurgles and choking sounds. I tried clasping my hands over my mouth, but the spiders just bit at my digits. They clawed and bit at my hands until chunks of meat and flesh fell to the white floor. Blood spattered and dripped from my hands. 

The sharp pain laced up my arms and I had to tear my hands away. I tried to close my mouth, but the flood arachnids were too much to shut my mouth around. When I finally was able to shut my lips around the spiders, they tore at my lips too. More chunks of me fell to the floor and more blood dribbled down. 

The spiders tore my mouth open, tearing and tearing and tearing at my skin until the corners of my mouth began to split up to my cheekbones, letting more and more spiders spill out. There were so many coming up from my throat, I couldn't even scream. 

The pain was something unbearable. I cried and cried and cried until my eyes hurt and the tears ran dry. Even then, I wanted to cry more. My nose tingled with the familiar feeling of wanting to cry, but nothing came out, which only made me want to cry more. It was an endless cycle of pain, spiders, and wanting the just die. Die so it would be over. Die so that the spiders and pain would just...

Stop. 

It was scary and it hurt. 

Suddenly, it stopped. The last spider tumbled from my tongue and scurried away. I could breathe again. The rush of air felt like the best drug. Complete euphoria. 

Then... my breath halted. My chest seized. My throat closed up. My shoulders convulsed and I fell to the ground. My mouth tore even more and I felt the long, bent legs touching and crawling up my throat. Sharp mandibles nipped at the inner skin and tendons. Blood leaked into my mouth and down my throat. The more those pinchers nicked at the skin, the more blood that leaked from the wounds. Soon, blood was flooding from my mouth and pushing a huge Black Widow spider out. It was roughly the size of a frisbee, legs curled into itself and it only took me a moment to realize, that it was dead. From what? It had been alive when it was crawling up my throat, was it the blood that had killed it?

The blood had slowed to an unhurried trickle. My vision went dark, and I collapsed.

I woke up with a gasp, hands tenderly touching my throat, my face. It was all intact. I let out a quiet sob of relief, but the sharp prickle that only belonged to the urge to cough stopped me. I hacked and coughed until I felt like I was going to throw up. Only then did the reflexive urge stop. Taking my hand away from my mouth, I felt something splatter onto the skin. I reached over to my lamp and clicked on the light. A warm, yellow glow flooded the room and I looked into my hand. 

My breath hitched. 

In my hand, was a small amount - maybe five - of spider legs, drops of red blood surrounding them. 

It had been a dream right?! There's no way it could've been real.

No way I had let out an entire Mouthful.


	5. Clown

Trigger Warning!: This story has clowns, blood, classic white girls in horror movies, and gore. If you're uncomfortable with _any_ of these things, don't read. 

* * *

I knew it was a bad idea. I _knew_ it. I told Cassie that going in the woods when it was so dark was stupid and a bad idea, but she wouldn't listen. She just called me a wuss and skipped into the black woods, giggling and laughing the whole way. 

I ran after her, calling her name and begging for her to come back, but she never responded. She just laughed and laughed until her joyous noise was cut short with a sudden and shrill scream. I stopped, my blood frozen. My mouth quivered as I opened it shakily to call out her name.

"C-Cassie?" My voice didn't come out as loud as I had hoped. Swallowing thickly, I called out again, this time louder. "Cassie?!" A low growl made me freeze. It didn't sound like any animal I recognized, neither did it sound human. It was a noise that shook me to my core, that sent sweat prickling from my forehead and falling down my nose. I closed a hand over my mouth to stop any noise from coming out. 

I wanted to call out again, but whatever was out there would know where I was, so I stayed quiet and surged further. My heart pounded in my ears, my breath as slow as I could make it. I flinched when a branch snapped beneath my foot. I was in total darkness and didn't want to turn on my flashlight in case whatever had made that noise would see me. 

I stayed still for a long time, waiting for something, _anything_ , to make a noise. Nothing. I tried calling out to Cassie again. Voice trembling.

"Cassie?"

What came next was a pain gurgling noise. "N-Nata-" It was Cassie! I forgot all sense of caution and pulled out my phone to turn on my flashlight. The woods were illuminated and just in front of me was a bloodied heap of clothes and hair and skin. The blue blouse was familiar to Cassie's, and I raced forward. When I reached her, and my light cascaded over her body, I felt my stomach roll. 

Cassie's stomach had been cut in half, her intestines spilling out over the side. The rancid smell hit me worse than any fertilizer or skunk ever could. 

I stumbled back, feet slipping and I fell onto my back. I winced at the pain of falling on sticks, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself staring up into beady black eyes, outlines by a white face and red, painted on lips. It smiled down at me with sharp yellow teeth. Its hand flung out to grasp my neck and I let out a surprised choking sound. I was going to die.

Because of this Clown.


	6. Screams

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood, murder, and crazy. If you're not comfortable with either of these, don't read. 

* * *

It was warm. It was so warm. It splashed over my hands and my face, my hands, warm and smooth and wet. It was exciting. The rush of it all shot through my nerves. I felt alive. I felt like I was in _control_.

I'll admit that I had gotten a little carried away at some point, but can you blame me? Imagine the rush of adrenaline. The satisfaction of getting back at someone who deserved it. It was more than a little addicting. 

Some days, the sound of my knife splitting and tearing through flesh was more than I could handle. The warm taste of blood would send me over the edge with euphoria and I would fall into a state of bliss. 

My favorite part was the screams. They never failed to send shivers trailing down my spine and I could never help but to keep them screaming for as long as possible. 

I like using knives the best. They make everything last so much longer. It just keeps it going until they can't take it anymore and either pass out from pain or die of blood loss. That's always disappointing, but oh well. The human body is so fragile.

At least I get to listen to their Screams. 


	7. Meat

Warning: Blood, gore, cannibalism. Y'all know the drill by now. 

* * *

It was disgusting how normal something like this seemed. It was horrible how the severed head with the spine sticking up from the bare neck didn't even make me want to throw up. But here I was, staring at the headless corpse tied up in my dining room chair, completely unfazed. The man's head lay a few feet away, just barely missing the wide puddle of blood, face frozen into a moment of terror. His final moments had been ones of pain and agonizing horror. 

_Some ending_ , I thought dryly. Was this really what my life had come to? Staring at dead bodies and barely even batting an eye? That wasn't a life I found myself wanting to enjoy. 

I wasn't even supposed to be out of bed. It was past one in the morning, and I had school in just six hours. But how could I go to school now, knowing that a random man had been dragged into my kitchen, tied up, and then decapitated? Who _did_ that? No one in their right mind, that was for sure. 

Not even the smell bothered me as much as it should've. After watching my parents be murdered before my eyes and-... well, blood didn't bother me like it used to. 

Ignoring the fact that I should've been calling the police, I reached out my hand, skimming my fingers over the butchered flesh. It was like hamburger meat, all mashed and shit. I laid my hand more solidly over the semi-flat surface. It was hot, but quickly cooling with the night air and AC constantly hitting it. I curled my fingers into the exposed neck, nails sinking lower and lower until they were pushing against my thumb through the skin. I continued to dig through the man's flesh until my fingers popped through to the other side and I was able to rip the rest of the piece off. It dripped a few drops of blood off, then stopped. I felt my mouth swell and fill with saliva as I continued to stare at the piece of meat. I slowly brought it closer to my mouth, lips parting slightly.

Then I stopped. 

How many? How many times had I looked at someone and wanted to taste their flesh? How many times did I wake up in the night with cold sweats, wishing that I could have just one more taste? It was like a drug and I was an addict. I think that was the most disgusting part. Not the lack of horror and disgust gripping me tightly, but the fact that I had the uncontrollable urge to eat a man. A _dead_ man, for that matter. Still, I couldn't ignore the burning desire flaring up in my stomach. All I needed was one taste. One taste and I'd be all right. One taste and everything would end. 

It wasn't just one taste. 

It was lick after lick, bite after bite, and swallow after heavy, yet easy, swallow, but it was never enough. After years of waiting for an opportunity like this, it was far too good to pass up. 

I tore into the man like a starved and crazed animal. Relief washed over me in such a way that I didn't feel the disgust settling in until after the deed was done, when blood was smeared over my face and hands, and raw meat hung from my fingers and mouth and a half-eaten man sat in the chair. I scanned over his body, seeing the black claw marks over his dead skin and the empty holes littering his arms, neck, and chest. 

I felt more guilty than anything. This unknown man had been horribly murdered in my kitchen and I respected him by eating him. I was no better, if not, worse, than the person who had left him here. 

The part that haunted me the most was the fact that I had a feeling I knew who had done this, and it scared me. That meant she knew where I lived, and probably even my sleep schedule if she had sent him when I was asleep. I had fallen right into her trap.

All for the Meat.


	8. Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains samples of pedophilia, murder, blood, and gore. If you aren't comfortable with _any_ of these elements, don't read.

* * *

I didn't kill because I was angry or wanted people to suffer as I had. I killed because it was fun. I killed because it sent excited shivers rolling down my spine like marbles. The sound of my knife sliding and ripping into skin, accompanied by the sweet sound of pained screams and tearful sobs were music to my ears.

I liked it when hot blood splashed onto my face. When it smeared over my lips, warm and wet. 

I recently found someone I liked. She's a young girl named Natalie, about fourteen. She was so pretty. Hair red and fiery and eyes emerald green. She had cute freckles splashed across her nose. She was so smart. Top of her class. 

I was so proud when she was finally able to take that first bite of her parents without throwing up. She looked so starved and hungry as she ate, it warmed my heart. 

She took each bite with new vigor. There was a point when I had to tell her to slow down, otherwise, she'd get sick from an upset stomach. Cute. 

My one issue was that she had stopped crying. I loved the fat tears that made her green eyes shine and look bigger than before, but I was glad she was happy. 

Maybe that's why I killed. So that I could make her happy and give her whatever she wanted. Either way, I'll do it. I'll give my sweet Natalie whatever she wants.

For Natalie and the Kill.


	9. Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This story contains clowns, blood, vomit, and gore. If you're uncomfortable with any of these elements, don't read. 

* * *

Those beady black eyes stared down at me. The red-painted smile had been split and separated by yellowing teeth.

"Who knew I'd get two?" His voice wavered, almost like he was nervous, but the smile on his face and looks in his eyes told a different story. I looked over at Cassie, who was whimpering. She was still alive. Good. 

"Please- don't." 

"Don't what?" The clown asked. "Don't hurt you? Don't gut you open like your friend over there?" The sharp point of a knife poked at my throat. I let out a small cry. I didn't want to die here. 

"Or maybe... you don't want me to stop." The clown said in a hushed tone. "Is that it? You want me to keep going?" He jumped away from me, hopping all of with excited shouts. Twigs snapped every time his feet collided with the ground. I tried to roll away again, but he was gripping my shoulders and before I could scream he was pushing a knife into my shoulder. I shrieked and thrashed against his grip, but he held me like a vice. I screamed and cried until he stuffed a cloth into my mouth. 

"Shh... we can't have you alerting anyone. We don't want the fun to end this early, do we?" Tears streamed down my face and I clamped my mouth shut, only a few whimpers escaping. 

"Answer me!"

"No! No no-no." I sobbed. My arm throbbed and my vision was dark. The clown pulled back his red lips and bared his yellowed teeth again. 

"Good. It's only polite to answer adults when they're speaking to you." He brushed a thumb down my cheek; I felt sick. This was sick. Who was this guy? What was he planning?

"Look what I have!" He said in a singsong voice. My phone had been set off somewhere to the side, but the light still illuminated the long bat he had picked up from somewhere else. He held up his finger to his mouth like he was telling me to be quiet. 

"You'll want to see this. She's still alive, you know? Just barely; having the intestines ripped from the body will do that, but I've figured out how to keep her alive just long enough for my favorite part." He turned to Cass. She was twitching spastically, fingers curling into the dirt and leaves and twigs while her breathing stuttered up and down. Up and down, up and down, up and down...

Until he brought the bat down. 

She wasn't even alive enough to scream. Not while the bat whacked wetly against her skin again and again and again. _Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk..._

It went on and on until I couldn't hold in the bile roaring up from my stomach. I rolled over onto my side, careful not to put pressure on my injured shoulder, and vomited all over the ground. I could see the blood splattering onto his baggy clothes and that horrific rainbow wig. 

Cassie's body jolted with each swift strike until the twitching stopped. Everything stopped. 

The clown was breathing hard. Shoulders rising hastily up and down and breaths in short and ragged bursts. But he was smiling. He was smiling so joyfully that I thought his cheeks would split. 

He turned on me after. He looked proud of himself. He looked like he wanted me to congratulate him. To tell him what a good job he did at killing my best friend. Like hell, I would ever do that. 

"You're turn. You're jealous, right? You want to be like your friend, yeah?" He let out another crazed laugh and another. He was giggling in this psychotic way that made my stomach churn again. 

Then the laughter stopped. 

He raised the bat over my head and brought it down. 

The first didn't knock me out, but it hurt like a bitch. So did the second one, and the third one. No matter how many times he hit me, I stayed awake. First, it was ten, then twenty. He laughed while I cried and screamed for him to stop. I screamed even when my skull caved in and my eyes rolled out onto the ground. There, I watched as he moved from my head to my chest cavity, watching it cave and fall in and my heart be bashed and beaten into a bloodied pulp. More blood spattered onto the clown's front. 

He abruptly stopped and looked at me. The two eyes on the ground. 

"You need to stay awake." And stopped down on me. 

I woke up in a white room. Chest aching and head pounding, I tried to sit up, but something was holding me down. Where was I? Why was I in so much pain?

Who was I?

I looked around and saw a woman wearing a lab coat standing in the doorway, staring at me. She smiled kindly and walked over to me. 

"Hi, Natalie. I'm Doctor Gross; it's a pleasure to meet you."

"I-" my voice choked. My throat ached and I was thirsty. Doctor Gross noticed and placed a glass of water to my lips. 

"I'm sorry, I should probably explain. You have Amnesia."


	10. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can email me at kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains blood, gore, and murder. If you don't like it, go read something else. 

* * *

The rage bubbled up in my chest as I watched that _stupid_ clown hurt _my_ Natalie. I was almost frozen. I couldn't believe that someone other than me was making her bleed and cry. How dare he? How _dare_ he?! 

My frozen body finally moved when the clown brought a bat down on her head. He hit her twice before I was on him, clawing at his stupid wig, ripping the bat from his hands, and beating him over the head with it. 

"Don't you touch her!" I screeched. Blood exploded from his nose and mouth, gushing down his chin and pooling down the sides of his neck. "Don't you ever lay another finger on her body!" Not that he would ever get the chance to again. 

Soon, I got tired of the bat and went to look at the ground. The light coming off from Natalie's phone showed the knife that lied beside her. The silver blade glinted brightly and showed off the still wet blood dripped down the edge. I gripped it by the leather handle and flipped it in my hand. It had a nice weight, and it was still sharp.

"Perfect," I whispered to myself. 

"Do it." The clown said. "Do it, you bitch." And that was all it took. The clown was laughing historically when I gripped him by the collar and thrust the knife into his stomach and chest, his arms and legs. He never screamed or cried, just laughed. 

"You bastard. You bastard. You bastard! YOU BASTARD!!" My voice continued to rise in volume until I was screaming and breathing hard. 

I kept going, even when he was long dead and his heart had stopped beating. I couldn't stop. My arm was moving on its own until the knife flew from my hand and hit the other body. Natalie's friend. I couldn't care less about her. All I cared about was Natalie.

All I cared about was my Revenge.


	11. Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.om

Trigger Warning!: This chapter has blood and gore, if you don't like that, don't read it. Have a nice day. 

* * *

I dreamed that I was in a white room. I dreamed that I was surrounded by doctors wearing plague suits. The hooked bird beak and waxed shut suit was a familiar sight from my World History class but seeing it was still odd.

I dreamed that I was strapped down to a white table with leather straps, my black hair falling over my eyes annoyingly, but I couldn't reach up the push them out of the way. 

I could hear the people in the suits talking amongst themselves. Their voices were muffled, but their words were clear. 

"Name: Charlie Beck. Gender: male. Age: sixteen. Height: five feet, nine inches. Weight: one-hundred-forty pounds."

That was me. That was my name, my height. 

This was probably the weirdest dream I had ever had, not that I usually remembered my dreams, but the point remains. 

"Hey!" I called out. "Who're you?" The beaked people turned to me, almost like they were startled that I had spoken, but it was hard to tell. You know, since they had the masks and stuff. 

The one closest to me walked closer until they were looming over me; my reflection looked back at me in the glass eyes. Their gloved hand raised higher until it hovered over my mouth. With one swift movement, the doctor clamped a hand over my mouth and nose. 

"You don't speak." They said in a heavy Asian accent. Their voice was deep like a male's, but it was so muffled, it was hard to be a hundred percent sure. 

I nodded quickly, now feeling nervous, though, maybe being strapped down to a table should've been the first clue that I should be feeling nervous at all. But this was a dream, so I should be fine.

One of the other doctors came into view with a bone saw. Despite the doctor's previous instructions, I spoke as soon as they took their hands away. 

"Hey, hey! What're you gonna do with that?!" They both jerked their heads to look at me, rage flowing off them. The first doctor putting now both hands over my mouth, almost completely covering my face.

"You. Don't. Speak." In that Asian accent, each word was punctuated with a sharp squeeze. Again, I nodded quickly, tear pricked at my eyes. The word 'sorry' danced at the tip of my tongue, a reflex I had gained over the years, but I was able to stamp it out here. I didn't want to give them any more reasons to be angry with me. 

Satisfied, the doctor took their hands away and took the bone saw from their companion, and took my hand. I was scared, but I knew that at any second-before the bone saw would touch my skin-I would wake up. Any. Second. 

I- um. I didn't wake up. Well, more like, I wasn't asleep in the first place. I realized that when the doctor took the bone saw and dug it into my middle finger. At first, just a small yelp escaped me, but as the doctor sawed over my finger, the pain became excruciating. Warm blood pooled onto the white table and soaked into my pants. I could see the blood dripping over the side, but I couldn't think about it. I hurt-I was in pain-and I just wanted it to stop.

When my finger was sawed off all the way, I distantly heard it hit the table with a wet _plop_. 

I shook with wet sobbed as tears streamed down my face. For a long moment, I couldn't speak through the pain, but when I could, I glared at the doctor through wet eyes and sweaty skin. 

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, asshole?" The 'doctor' seemed annoyed, but didn't speak, like they had given up on telling me to shut up. I took it as an opportunity to speak more. 

"Shit! You asshole! Why are you fuc-" The doctor cut through another one of my fingers and I broke off with a shrill and guttural scream. More blood was added to the collection of the pool. 

"You are sick. You need treatment." The doctor said. 

"You're giving me treatment by cutting my fucking fingers off?! I'm not sick. I'm perfectly healthy!" 

"Your mind is sick. Your mind needs treatment." I guess that explained the Black Death plague suit, but that didn't change the fact that I needed to figure out where I was, and how I got there. Most importantly: how I'm supposed to get out. 

Another doctor came up behind the first one, handing him a syringe. 

"What are you gonna do with that? Don't you put that anywhere near me!" The fluid in the syringe glowed a neon green through the clear glass. 

"You are sick." The doctor said. They clamped down on my arm, gloved fingers digging into the skin. It hurt, and I winced when the leather pulled at the surface. 

"Hey! Let me go!" I shrieked. The doctor nodded to one of their companions, who pulled out a roll of duct tape. With a strip torn off, the other doctor placed it over my mouth. It didn't stop me from screaming and thrashing when the doctor tested to needle and the green liquid placed out and seared through the white table like nuclear acid. 

Through the buckles and straps, I pulled against the leather bindings as far away as I could, but it wasn't far. 

The doctor still held my arm as they plunged the needle into my arm. The metal piercing my skin hurt considerably less than the acid flowing into my arm. I screamed and thrashed, but it still did nothing. It hurt. It hurt more than anything I had ever experienced before. 

My face began to feel painfully hot as I shouted and cried. My tears only seemed to make it worse. It hurt so much that it made me cry more, which increased the pain. I was soon trapped in a cycle of torture. 

My eyelids burned and my vision dimmed around the edges. The doctor's beak filled my view and that same, heavy accent filled my ears.

"You are Sick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone comes at me for the Plague Doctors being Asian, I only chose Asia because that's where the Black Plague came from.


	12. Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood and gore, if you don't like these elements, don't read it. Have a nice day. 

* * *

I never really understood horror movies. I didn't understand why some people _like_ to be scared or didn't even find the movies scary at all. If you didn't find them scary, why were you watching them in the first place? I didn't get it. 

So why was I sitting on the couch with my friends, Daniel and Trevor, watching _Don't Knock Twice_? I got that it was Halloween and it was the spirit of the season, but how had I let myself get dragged into this situation? 

"Come on, Noah." Daniel teased, throwing an arm over Trevor's shoulders. "It's not that scary." I swiftly flipped him the bird at his words and pushed myself lower into the overstuffed couch cushions. You could say that I was the chicken of the group. While everyone was playing _Outlast_ and _Resident Evil_ , I could be found playing _Animal Crossing_. Sure, it wasn't very thrilling, but I liked it all the same. It was a relaxing game and helped with stress, okay? Leave me alone. 

I watched as the black, lanky figure on the screen stretched out her arms towards the main characters; my skin crawled. I hated this movie. 

A knock against the window made us all jump. Trevor laughed it off, but it was an uneasy sound. 

"It's always when we're watching horror movies." Daniel laughed; his arm tightened around Trevor's shoulders. 

I wasn't secretive about my uneasiness. I wrapped my own arms tighter around my knees and shoved myself into the corner. 

The knocking came again, harder this time, and all three of us jumped. Daniel paused the movie and flicked on the light. 

"All right, what the hell was that? No way was that a tree." He demanded. I suddenly felt like we were in our own horror movie. I wanted to leave. I just wanted to go home. 

There was knocking all around the house. On the walls and the windows and the doors. Even the windows on the second floor. 

Two feet from my head, the window shattered. I jerked away and watched in horror as a dead bird sailed through the broken glass and collapsed on the floor. We screamed--very manly--and Trevor and I scrambled off the couch. I stumbled into the coffee table, catching my foot, when another bird crashed into the room. More and more birds sailed into the house. 

"What the fuck is going on!?" I screamed.

"I don't know!" Trevor shouted back. I reached into my back pocket to grab my phone. I went to call the police when a hand reached through the window and snatched my wrist. It was gnarled and obviously belonged to someone old. The nails were long and dug into my skin, pricking with blood. I let out another very manly scream and tried to wrench my hand out of the rough grip, but the nails just dug deeper into the skin. My skin was peeled back by the nails like a fruit peel. Pain seared through me, and I tugged harder. More skin was stripped away and I found that tears were pouring down my face. Daniel and Trevor were pulled on me, trying to free me, but The grip wouldn't let up.

This was true Horror.


	13. Krampus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood, gore, demonic entities, and people eating. If you don't like any of these elements, don't read it. Have a nice day. 

* * *

If there was one thing I hated about Christmas, was the excessive amount of decorations my family always put up. It takes days to put everything up, and then when it's over a week later, they get upset when it's not all done in one day. Wow. Real nice, you guys.

I don't usually spend Christmas at my dad's house, but when I did, it wasn't that bad. He and my stepmom are milder with the decorations, but I get the feeling that even if they did go over the top, we'd have a blast taking everything down. 

So maybe I need to rephrase my previous statement. The one thing I hate about Christmas is spending it with my mom, stepdad, and little brother. They just make everything about Christmas suck except for when other people show up, then I get to talk to them instead, but whatever. 

So yeah, I hate spending Christmas with the wrong people, so I'm sure you could understand just how miserable I was when I was forced awake from my precious sleep at seven in the morning by a small, eight-year-old child jumping on my bed. I know that parents find it endearing, but I think they just had Stockholm syndrome from dealing with that little monster for so long. I did not find it endearing, I found it more annoying than any PE class I've ever had to take. 

"Evelin, get up get up get up! It's time for PRESENTS!" The little goblin screamed in my face. I pushed him out of my line of sight and ducked back under the covers. 

"Go away, Anthony, thirty more minutes." Now listen, before you all start harping on me for hating Christmas, I don't. I like spending it with family(my dad's side of the family), and I enjoy spending time with them. But on my dad's side, I'm the youngest and don't have to deal with this shit there. 

I expected Anthony to jump back on my bed and start jumping and shouting again, but it was silent. My fan was the only thing making noise, and I smiled before wrapping the blankets tighter around myself. 

I don't know what time it was when I finally decided to wake up, but I felt refreshed. I crawled out of bed and stepped onto my carpeted floor. I could hear the TV out in the living room playing _A Christmas Story_ on repeat like it did whenever Christmas came around.

I walked into the living room, preparing myself for the irritation that was going to descend upon me as soon as my family saw me, but when I fully entered the room, there was no one in sight. 

I searched the house, but found no one. I shrugged it off, and climbed onto the couch, switching to cartoons. Call me childish for a young adult, but I like cartoons, all right? Leave me alone. 

It was _Steven Universe_ anyway.

I'm not sure how long I watched TV, but when I stopped, it was pushing on noon. Still, there was no one around and the presents had remained untouched in their places under the tree. I didn't really care about the presents, but it seemed like a waste of money if no one was going to open them. Still, I didn't touch them and went to my room to grab a pillow and a blanket. 

The moment I stepped into my room, I was shrouded in darkness. It was a cliche way to describe something, but it seemed to fit, so deal with it. 

I looked around, but saw nothing. Obviously. Because it was pitch black. 

All around me, I heard low growls echoing through the air. I couldn't tell if I was shaking from fear, or the vibrations running under my feet. 

I walked into the blackness. The only way I knew I was moving was by the movement of my legs. 

The further I walked, the louder the growling was. In the dark, my eyes were beginning to adjust, and I could see a silhouette. It was huge. I took another step, and my foot hit something wet and hot. I stopped walking. 

The air was beginning to smell strongly of iron. 

A harsh snarl made me jump back, and I could hear something being torn apart. It sounded wet, and it sent shivers running down my spine. 

I didn't dare speak. I could barely even get my breath out. I could see the silhouette clearly now. It was hairy, with crooked horns and hooves. It was tearing into something, it's mouth coated in red. 

I could see red puddles at my feet caused by skin-colored lumps. My mother's face stared back at me sightlessly. 

"Merry Christmas to me." The creature said in a giggly voice between bites. 

"Merry Christmas to Krampus."


	14. Skin-walker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood and gore and Skin-walkers. If you're uncomfortable with these elements, please do not read. Have a nice day. 

* * *

The Skin-walker was something I've been seeing my entire life. Or as long as I could remember, at least. I think it first started when I was around three years old. That's when my parents say I started telling them about the deer that walked on two legs in the woods. They didn't believe me, of course, and just simply chalked it up to childish imagination. It wasn't until middle school--when I talked about it for the last time--did they start to worry about my sanity. They thought I had schizophrenia, but a doctor cleared that mystery up pretty quickly. When no real answer brought themselves forward, they just simply thought I was crazy and took me to a psychologist. 

I don't know how long I went there for, I do remember that she tried to pick my brain about past trauma and asked me over and over again if my parents had ever laid hands on me or hurt me. I told her that they hadn't, but I don't think she believed me. She never called the police, though, and I don't think she ever hired any private investigators, but I also wouldn't have known if she had. 

All the while, I kept seeing the Skin-walker. I didn't know what it was for a long time. I just knew that it was disturbing and I didn't want to see it anymore. Like I stated before, it was a deer that walked on two legs. The skin on the chest had been peeled away and its ribcage was showing. A few times, I'd been able to get a close enough look to see its heart still beating in its chest. It made me sick to my stomach, and I'd had to excuse myself from class more than a few times. 

Eighth grade was when I stopped telling my parents. They probably just assumed that my imagination was beginning to ease back, or that I wasn't getting the attention I wanted anymore. I couldn't really tell you, but they never brought it up and neither did I. 

Eventually, it stopped bothering me so much. I still saw it, but I didn't feel sick when I saw it anymore. It actually gave me a pretty strong stomach and resilient to horror movies. 

It was never really violent until I started my first year of high school. I was on the bus, going home, and we had just reached my spot. I got off the bus, and as soon as it was out of sight, I felt something scratch my cheek. My first thought was that a bee or something had run into me and stung me, or that someone had thrown something at me; I wasn't the most popular. I looked around, but I didn't see anyone. Normally, when I get picked on, the kids are never shy about telling me it was them doing it.

So yeah, I didn't see anyone, until I looked in the woods. I could see it. It was just... _staring_ at me. Its head didn't look much like a deer now. It looked more like a goat, but its ribcage and heart were still out for the whole world to see. Its mouth was pulled back into this creepy smile, and blood was leaking from its tongue and teeth. It was smiling, but it looked horrible. It was missing an eye and its hair was patchy; I couldn't look away. 

It was holding something in its hand, but I couldn't see what it was; it was so small. 

At some point, I was able to go back inside, but I kept my eyes on it the whole way. 

When I got inside, my mom was immediately fussing over me. 

"Jacob, what happened to your face? You're bleeding!" I had completely forgotten about the cut, to be honest. It didn't even hurt. 

"I'm not entirely sure." I half lied. "I'm gonna go clean it up." She looked like she didn't believe me, which was fair but didn't say anything. She'd been listening to these bullshit parenting podcasts and probably thought that if I wanted to talk, I'd start the conversation or some shit like that. I'm not going to lie, most 'parenting tips' are just absolute bullshit. But I didn't want to talk about it, so I just went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. 

It wasn't the blood that made me jump when I looked in the mirror; I was used to that. It was the fact that the blood was black. How had Mom not noticed? Was the lighting weird? Or did it just look like normal blood to her?

"Hey, Mom?" I called out. Now that I was in proper lighting, she'd have to see that something _was_ wrong, right?

"Yes, honey?" She asked. 

"Could you come in here for a second?" It didn't take long for her to walk in. She must've sensed the growing hysteria in my voice. She looked at me with furrowed brows, but she didn't look anymore concerned than that?

"What's wrong, honey?" I stared at her, disbelieving. Did she really not see the black blood oozing from my face? Seriously? 

"You don't see anything wrong?" I gestured to my face. 

"You mean other than the fact that you're bleeding and haven't cleaned it up yet? Do you need help with the bandages, sweetie?"

So she really hadn't seen it? 

"No, I'm all right," I said. "I've got everything under control." 

She nodded and left. "Well, if you need anything just let me know." I mumbled a quick 'yeah' and turned back to my reflection. The black blood was still slowly dripping from the cut, and I reached my hand up to touch it. It was wet but sticky. Behind me, I could see words on the wall. 

_You're Mine._

After watching the countless amount of horror movies, I wasn't scared. It was more cliche than anything, but I did feel a little unsettled. 

"Jacob!" Mom shouted. She sounded angry.

"Yeah, Mom?" Nothing. 

"Mom?" I called out again. Still nothing.

"JACOB!!" She screamed again. This time, I jumped at the sudden sound. 

"Mom?" Nothing. With a groan, I exited the bathroom and turned into the kitchen. She wasn't there. I walked upstairs into her bedroom; she wasn't there either. I looked through the windows around the house, but I couldn't find her. 

"Mom?" My voice came out uneasy this time. 

A heavy thump behind my bedroom door made me jump. Was Mom in there? It didn't make sense why she would be, but I looked inside all the same. 

I opened the door and screamed. In the doorway, Mom was swinging lifelessly from a rope around her neck. Her chest cavity was open and it was just a solid dark red mass. Her heart was gone, her ribs were gone. All internal organs were gone. Blood pooled at her feet, soaking the plus carpet. 

I backed up until my back hit the stair banister and fell to my knees. Acidic bile rose up in my chest and I vomited all over the floor. It splashed up and hit my hands, and they burned. I screamed in pain and brought my hands up to shake the bits off, but they just burned into my skin. I raced into the bathroom and yanked on the faucet. Coldwater hit my hands. I looked into the mirror. My scleras were flooded with red and bleeding like I had been strangled. The vomit that clung to my chin was black and more pooled from within my mouth. 

"You're mine." Said the Skin-walker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend recommended this to me, but I didn't look up too much of the lore so I have no idea what a Skin-Walker actually does. I just went with what I wanted.


	15. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, you can reach me at my email kuroblake8493@gmail.com

What makes people believe that they're safe from harm? What makes them feel safe in their home, late at night when the darkness descends over them and the only thing keeping it at bay is a few wires and bulbs?

It's ignorance. 

They lie to themselves. People will tell themselves over and over again that as long as that front door is just and they're under the covers, nothing can touch them.

Well, let me tell you a secret. You're not safe.

You can check for monsters under your bed or in your closet. 

You can keep that night light plugged in and lighting up the room. 

Hell, you can sleep in your parents' room for all I care. 

But that won't save you.

As soon as you stop looking under your bed or close that closet door, I'll be there.

Even if that night light shows everything there is to show in your room, I'll be there.

When you're surrounded by your parents' warmth and think that nothing will touch you, I'll be there.

That little noise you hear late at night, that small pressure you feel on your bed, that dark, shadowy figure you think is just your imagination. 

It's all me, letting you know that I'm there in the room with you. That I can reach you even if your feet and head are tucked under the covers.

You'll never be Safe.


	16. Grandma

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood. If you're uncomfortable with this, please don't read. 

* * *

I've always been afraid of the dark. 

For as long as I can remember, I've woke up screaming from nightmares of being wrapped in suffocating blackness.

My parents have tried to make me get over my fear by taking me to therapy or having me watch scary movies. Exposure therapy and all that jazz.

Surprise, it never worked. If anything, it made my fear worse. The nightmares were more frequent and turned bloody. I've dreamed of my parents being slaughtered in front of me. I've dreamed of watching myself be murdered and beaten bloody until I didn't even recognize myself. 

My parents were at their wit's end. Apparently, being yanked awake in the middle of the night by a screaming son five times a week on average wasn't good for their sleep schedule. 

At some point, I guess they couldn't take it anymore. They sent me to go live with my senile grandma. She was constantly mistaking me for my dad, but I didn't really care. I let her call me by his name and decided that it would only give me headaches if I tried to correct her. 

I stayed with her for months, and I came to realize that she was a heavy sleeper in that first week. I woke up from nightmares three times in those first seven days, and the only sound that filled the empty air after my screams was the loud snoring in the other room. 

"Nathaniel," Grandma knocked on my door. "It's time for breakfast." It was two in the afternoon and I had already eaten lunch, but I let it slide. 

"All right, Grandma, I'll be right there," I called back. I wasn't hungry, but I figured that she'd forget all about eating by the time she saw the TV flicked on. I doubt she had even made anything to eat. Honestly, the fact that she lived this long on her own was astounding in itself. Whatever, at least this place had WiFi. 

Later that night, I found some pizza in the fridge and warmed it up in the microwave. It was around ten and almost all the lights were on in the house. It couldn't have been good for Grandma's electric bill, but that just made me wonder if she even paid it. Or how, for that matter.

The microwave dinged and made me jump. I sighed, laughed at myself, and turned to the small box, and reached out to open it. 

In the glass reflection, I could see Grandma behind me. She was staring at the wall to the right of me. Just... _staring_ at the corner, not saying a word. 

"Grandma?" I asked, but she didn't show any signs of hearing me. Her mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out. 

"Grandma, are you okay?" Again, she didn't seem to hear me, but her voice rose and I could hear her singing in a hoarse voice. 

" _Ring around the rosie, pockets full of posies. Ashes to ashes, we all fall down_." It sent chills down my spine. Probably because my eighty-nine-year-old grandmother was singing to herself and staring at a wall with a blank expression. 

Pizza forgotten, I walked closer and reached out to her. Before I could touch her shoulder, she snatched my wrist and held it in a vice-like grip. When she looked at me, her eyes were black. 

" _Ring around the rosie, pockets full of posies. Ashes to ashes, we all fall down._ " As if it were possible, I felt her grip on my wrist tighten. 

"What the hell?!" I screeched, yanking my hand back. I fell from her grip and crashed into the fridge. 

Grandma stared at me with a curious expression. Her eyes were back to the same pale green color. 

"Adam," she said, using my real name this time. "What on Earth are you doing?" Then walked down the hall to her room. 

I wasn't hungry anymore, and I clawed at my pockets until my phone was in my hand. I went to my messages app and found my dad's contacts. 

_Dad, something's wrong with Grandma._


	17. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, my email is kuroblake8493@gmail.com

When you've lived for as long as I have, you aren't surprised nearly as often as you used to be. 

Things going bump in the night don't make you stare at closed doors, waiting for whatever's there to just open it. 

That small tapping on the windows doesn't make your eyes bug out of your skull with fear. 

And the feeling of hot blood on your hands and the sound of shrill screams don't haunt you like they used to. 

The odd looks you get when you walk into the psych ward don't make you wish you could be anywhere else anymore. 

The shadows you see when you take your pills don't make you sweat and cower with fear. 

The urge to kill again isn't as sickening. 

Yeah, none of it is as big of a Surprise


	18. Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story suggestions, my email is kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Three knocks. 

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Three knocks and I was covering my mouth and squeezing my eyes shut, letting the few tears slip down my face. I just wanted him to leave me alone and never come back.

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Through my hands fell a muffled whimper. 

"EMILY! OPEN THE DOOR, YOU BITCH!" He screamed through the wood. I sobbed and crawled away to the stairs. If I could just get upstairs to the phone, I'd be all right. I'd be able to call the police and then just hide until they show up. 

My hand reached the third step when the glass over the door shattered. A bloodied hand reached through the broken space and grappled for the door. Fortunately, the lock was too far away from him to reach. I let out a shriek anyway and raced up to the second floor. 

I ran into my bedroom and grappled around for the phone plugged in on my nightstand. I could hear the heavy thumping at the door. 

He was throwing himself at it. 

I ripped my phone from its place on the wood and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?" A woman's voice said from the other side.

"Please help me, my brother's trying to break into my house. I don't know what he's going to do. He broke the glass on my door and he's trying to break it down."

"All right, ma'am, help is on the way, I just need you to stay on the line. Can you do that?"

"Yes." I sobbed out. 

It was deathly quiet. Then another slam. 

"Ma'am, where are you?"

"My bedroom." I dropped my voice into a whisper, just in case he could hear me. 

"Is there a safer place for you to hide until the police arrive? They're five minutes away."

The sound of clattering metal and splintering wood echoed through the otherwise empty house. 

"He's inside," I whispered hoarsely. 

"All right, ma'am, is there any way for you to safely get outside?" 

"Yes, my room has a balcony I can use to get down." I was already moving towards the door. I could hear him coming up the stairs. 

"All right, please use that and the police will be right there." I opened the door and locked it behind me, knowing it would stall him, if only for a few seconds. 

"The police are just a few blocks away." The woman said in my ear. I gave a noise of confirmation. 

A rough grip on my hair made me scream. He yanked me back into him and then pushed me over the side. I tumbled over the wooden railing and fell. 

The descent was in slow-motion, and one would have thought it would lead to a soft landing, but it didn't. The breath was knocked from my lungs and pain laced through my body. 

Sirens were the last thing I heard before I passed out. 

All because of my Brother.


	19. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any story ideas, my email is kuroblake8493@gmail.com

She broke her promise to me.

She told me that if I just- _did_ what she said, then I'd have him back.

She took him, and I wanted him back.

He was a good boy, he was one of the nicest kids I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting and she didn't care. She took him anyway because she knew what he meant to me.

Emily played the victim card so well. People saw me as a raging alcoholic. An abusive father.

None of that was true. I'd never touched a drop of alcohol in my life. I loved my son.

When she told me that she was going to keep him and tell people that I had beaten her nephew bloody, I snapped. My hands were around her neck before I even blinked. I wasn't even thinking.

I just wanted my son back.

Was that too much of me to ask for?

I remember my son's fifth birthday party. Emily had been there, of course. She was his aunt after all. But his mother was missing.

Cancer had taken her just before he was three. It was a miracle I had gotten to keep him alive. I liked to believe that I was a good father. I made sure he was fed and clothed and was capable of doing his homework. He got to spend time with his friends as long as he wasn't failing any of his classes, and he was always laughing about something when we were together.

I loved him more than the air I breathed. He was my pride and everything I could've hoped for in life.

Then she had taken him.

She had left a note, telling me that she wanted him. That she wanted to keep him and play with him (I didn't want to think about what that meant), but she would be willing to give him back if I played nice.

Our mother had been sent to a psych ward when we were teens, and I think it did something to her. She was always muttering to herself when it was just the two of us, but she seemed completely normal when she was with other people.

She sent multiple texts over the weeks since my son's kidnapping.

**_Emily: Go 2 the garage and grab the arsenic on the shelf_ **

**_You: Why?_ **

Every time I asked questions, she would send me pictures of him. Bound and gagged, snot and tears running down his face.

**_You: Ok ok. Just don't hurt him._ **

**_Emily: Good boy_ **

I wasn't able to work most days. Early on in the whole situation, Emily told me that she had tapped my phone and would be able to read any texts I made, listen in on all my phone calls, and would know where I was at all times. Telling anyone about David would be impossible.

I didn't think Emily was evil. I had never-will never-think of her as an evil person. I think she's sick and needs help. I think there's nothing normal about the way she's behaving or thinking.

I just wanted my son back.

"Listen to me! She's not normal! She took my son!!" I thrashed against the policeman's grip. I barely remembered anything from when I first punched through the window in the door to when I pushed her over the side of the balcony.

Maybe the sickness wasn't just her.

She had suffered from a broken back, but nothing more. She would make a steady recovery and would soon learn to walk again.

"Mark David Wolf." A fat detective walked into the room, looking at me with scrutiny.

"Detective, I know how it looks, but you have to listen to me! She has my son. She's been telling me to do all these things or she'll hurt him. I fished out my phone and scrolled through my contacts and finding Emily's. I thrust the conversations in his face and watched his eyes as he read them.

"Why was your sister telling you to get arsenic, gas lighter fluid, and antifreeze?"

"I don't know, but she told me that if I didn't do it, she'd hurt David. Look, I have pictures." I showed him the pictures of my son tied up and in tears. They broke me to see them every time, but he needed to see that Emily was the real one responsible for this.

"You have to listen to me." The words tumbled from my mouth over and over again. I couldn't make them stop. Even when everything fell away and my arms were wrapped around me with a white jacket. I couldn't stop saying it.

"You have to listen to me. You have to listen to me. You have to listen to me."

Sometimes I wondered if I even _had_ a sister named Emily.


	20. Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story ideas, my email is kuroblake8493@gmail.com

On nights when the moon is full and round and lights up everything, turning it all into something ethereal, I could be found covered in blood. 

I won't say it's not my fault, because it definitely is, but I will say that it wasn't my choice. 

I tried to fight it for so long. I tried to force out the evil and disgusting thoughts that plagued my sleep and eventually, my mornings. 

Eventually, the ideas didn't seem all that bad.

What was wrong with wanting to skin dogs alive? 


	21. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For story ideas, my email is kuroblake8493@gmail.com

The hands ripped at my body, tearing into my clothes and skin. I tried to push them away, but I couldn't. I tried to scream for help, but my voice halted in my throat.

They wouldn't stop. More hands pulled at my hair, yanking it from my scalp. I couldn't scream; all I could muster was a weak garble of sounds.

"Gah! Urk-hub!" It took me a moment to realize that I couldn't talk because more hands were wrapped around my throat. 

Fingers sunk painfully into my skin, pulling it apart and grasping my still-beating heart. The fact that anyone could survive anything like that was truly astounding.

My own hands were weak at my sides, unmoving. I tried desperately to cause even the slightest twitch of my fingers, but nothing. 

They just kept ripping into me with their Hands. 


	22. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood and spirals into madness. If you're uncomfortable with either of these elements, please don't read. Have a nice day. 

* * *

There was one time in my life that I thought about taking another person's life. Only one, because in my defense, haven't we all thought about what it would be like to take someone's life. Like, when someone you hate just won't leave you alone, and they berate you again and again until all you can think about is killing them and making them finally shut up.

Yeah, I've only thought of killing someone once, and it was my husband. Now, I think anyone who has a spouse or significant other can relate to thinking about killing their partner, especially when they're snoring really loud, or when they chew too loud, or when they take all the space and covers in bed. 

When I thought about killing him, it wasn't during any of these situations. 

I can't even really explain it. We were just sitting on the couch watching TV. It was the Food Network, and all of a sudden, I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat until he stopped breathing. I wanted to shut off any air passage that I could while he clawed at my hands and begged me to stop.

Obviously, I was horrified with myself and scrambled off the couch. He asked me what was wrong, and all I could say was that I didn't feel good. I went to the bathroom and emptied my stomach into the toilet. What was _wrong_ with me? What kind of 'normal' person dreamt of killing their spouse? What kind of person _wanted_ to kill their spouse? 

I didn't feel the urge to kill him again, but I was always scared that I would. I was scared to fall asleep in case of nightmares, and I was afraid of looking him in the eyes because of the shame that I felt.

The fear haunted me, and looking at him made it worse. If he hadn't been with me, I wouldn't have had that nightmarish fantasy. It was all his fault, wasn't it? He was the reason why guilt and fear was haunting me on a daily basis.

I felt the warm blood on my hands before I even thought about what I had been doing. The entire time, my mind had been blank. 

Distantly, I could hear the knife blade drop from my hands. Horror gripped my chest tightly and I stumbled backward off his body, bloodied hands smearing blood all over my face.

The scariest part of the whole thing was that I had completely no idea what I was doing. It was like someone--or something--had taken complete control over my body and done what they wanted with it. 

I had had no Control. 


	23. You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroblake8493@gmail.com

He had an obsession with hair--well, _my_ hair to be specific. When I was asleep, he would crawl through my window and crouch low next to my bed. He would pet the hair, smell it, even cut small pieces away to keep. He never knew that I knew what he was doing, but I did. You may ask why I never confronted him or called the police to have him arrested, and those are fair questions, but you have to know that I tried. 

The first night it happened, when he silently opened my window and crawled through, I couldn't sleep. I was just lying in bed, trying desperately to just close my eyes and fall into dreams, but I couldn't. When I heard his feet gently thump against my floor. I was terrified. I was frozen with fear and couldn't stop the trembling of my body as he ran his fingers shakily over my hair, picked it up, and let it run and slip over his fingers. He had picked it up between two fingers like he was afraid to cause damage and sniffed. I heard the long and quiet intakes of breath and tried not to scream. When he left, I didn't sleep at all, afraid of what could happen if he did come back. I didn't want to think about it, but I couldn't stop.

Morning finally came, and I quickly dressed and went to the police station; I didn't feel safe in my own home anymore. The police and investigators did a full investigation of my room, but found nothing. No boot prints, no signs of forced entree. It was like no one had come into my room. Detectives told me that it was just my imagination or that maybe I was just dreaming when it happened, and at first, I agreed with them. I'd been really stressed out ith work lately and maybe it was finally getting to me.

This went on until January, three months, and my sleep schedule has suffered because of it. I tried to get up whenever he showed up, but I couldn't move. I was physically stuck to my bed, unable to get out.

One night, when he showed up, he spoke for the first time. His voice was gravely like he had been eating sandpaper. 

"You're hair is so beautiful." He croaked. I cringed at the sound his voice. "So soft, and so pretty. Oh, how I wish you were mine. I would get rid of anyone who stood in our way. I would get rid of anyone who would dare to lay a finger on you." He continued to ramble on. "I'd make it last, so they'd know not to hurt you again, not that I'd give them the chance. I'd place hot pokers all over their skin and drip boiling tar on their faces. I'd skin them alive and listen to their screams as they begged for forgiveness.

"Their skin would melt and peel off their body into little heaps of blood and meat on the floor--hey, why are you crying?" He moved the hair from my neck and placed sickening kisses along the skin. I couldn't stop the horrified tears from escape my eyes. 

"I'd do it all for You."


	24. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroblake8493@gmail.com

What are you afraid of? What makes your skin crawl or keeps you awake at night? Is it spiders? Is it the dark? Clowns or dolls? The monster under the bed? What could possibly make you wake up in the middle of the night when you can't even see it, or when it's not even there. Is it because you watched too many horror movies before you went to bed? Or because you thought it would be fun to read true horror stories about things you think could never happen to you? Why would you want to make your heart crawl up your throat like that? What about that is enjoyable. 

Or do you like the fear? Do you like the idea that you're not going to live forever? Do you like the immense of death? That's kind of freaky. Are you a secret pervert or something? I bet you are. 

Sorry, I'm just trying to understand. You see, I don't fear anything. I never have and I never will. It's a medical thing. Ironically enough, it terrified my parents. I wasn't afraid when the wolf in our backyard howled or scratched at the doors all through the night. I wasn't afraid when I heard the creaking sound of my closet opening and the black figure holding up the knife loomed over my bed. I wasn't afraid when the police never found signs of the figure ever existing. When I asked my mother why she thought the movie _The Shining_ was scary, she didn't hesitate to take me to the nearest hospital for a brain scan. My mother's always been a nervous woman, and it only got worse when she became a parent. That's what my father used to say.

Don't get me wrong, I understand the concept of fear; I've just never felt it before. I don't know why people jump during horror movies or stay up late playing horror games, get scared, not sleep at night, and then say the next day that it was amazing. I'm confused. 

I don't understand Fear.


	25. Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroblake8493@gmail.com

I stared at the face in the mirror. It wasn't mine, but it looked familiar. I'm sure I'd seen it before I saw it in the mirror. Maybe on a TV show or a movie I'd watched a few days before. I wasn't sure, but I knew the face wasn't mine. 

It wasn't mine. 

It wasn't mine. 

It wasn't my Face.

(The patient was taken away due to the beginning of a panic attack. Maybe I can talk to her more later.)


	26. Game

"This is a bad idea." How many times had I tried to be the voice of reason? Too many. No one ever listened to me, but when I come up with a less than savory idea that could potentially get our asses kicked, people get cold feet. 

"Oh, shut up, Miles. Weren't you the one who did this first, two years ago?"

"Yeah, but I told you what happened after."

"I'm sure that was just your wimp ass freaking out." I snapped. "You probably passed out and dreamt up the whole thing." I was stupid. I wanted to prove that I wasn't some chicken afraid of her own shadow. I didn't want to be the baby of the group anymore. I wanted people to think I was cool and could do fun things without my conscience getting in the way. It was surprisingly easy.

Miles was silent after that, staring down at the Ouiji board like it had personally offended him. Rachel and Martha were there too, and they were much more enthusiastic about the whole thing. 

"Can we get this started already?" Martha whined. If anyone was the spitfire of the group, it would be them. Martha was a loose cannon if I'd ever seen one. 

"Could you relax for two seconds?" I asked. "I had to get the candles." I held up the two scentless wax candles in my hands and placed them on either side of the board. "Someone turn off the lights," I ordered. It was Miles who did it, though I think it was because he wanted to stay as far away from the board as he could. He hung back as the room went dim while Rachel, Martha, and I sat cross-legged around the table and placed our hands over the planchette. I didn't even expect it to work. I just thought it would be something fun to do.

"Is there anyone here?" Rachel asked. Nothing happened. 

"Do you want us to leave you alone?" I asked. Nothing happened. I heaved a long sigh and went to stand up. "Well, this was a bust." As I stood up, the Ouiji board flew from the table and the planchette crashed into the wall. I heard glass shattering at the sound of Martha letting out a shrill shriek. 

"Holy shit!" Miles shouted in alarm. I stared with wide eyes and turned to him.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"Oh, so now you're going to listen to me?!"

"It's not like any of you ever listen to me! I'm constantly saying we shouldn't do stuff and y'all do it anyway!"

"This really isn't the time to be fighting, you guys!" Martha shouted. They were holed up against the wall, a blanket wrapped around them. I couldn't see their face in the dark lighting.

I ran to the switch to turn the lights back on, but I stubbed my toe on the couch. Rachel was the one to reach the panel and flip the lights on, but it remained dark. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't meant for it to go this far. 

"Guys, we need to get ou-" Miles started, but he vanished with a cry.

"Miles!" We all shouted, but it was too late. He was gone. A wet thump hit the ground next to me and I jumped. I took the nearest candle and lowered myself to my knees. Something dark soaked into the carpet and thick noodles brushed against my arm. 

Upon further observation, I saw that the dark liquid was blood, and the noodles weren't noodles at all, but they were Miles' intestines. He'd been ripped in half and thrown half-hazardly to the ground. I lurched back with a cry. The smell rose in the air and mixed with something burning. 

"What the _fuck_ is happening?!" Rachel screamed. 

"I don't know!" I shouted back.

It was just supposed to be a stupid Game.


	27. Delusional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroblake8493@gmail.com

She stroked my hair with long nails. They scratched along my scalp as I snuggled up into her. She hummed a familiar lullaby that had brought me to the edge of sleep again and again. My dad sat off to the side in his chair, watching a football game on the TV. 

"Mom?" I said, my voice small. She hummed, fingers stilling. "I love you." She let out a chuckle, fingers carding through my hair once more. The feeling was soothing and I never wanted her to stop. It felt like I hadn't felt something like this in a long time. 

(Patient #008 was removed due to an episode. His doctor took his place.)

He was diagnosed as Schizophrenic when he was six years old. Shortly after, his parents died, but he was too young to understand it. He kept seeing them, even when he moved in with his grandparents, so he didn't suspect anything was wrong. It wasn't until he started talking about his parents did people start to get scared. His grandfather tried to tell him that his parents had both died in a car accident, but he wouldn't listen. When he was fifteen, they showed him the obituary from that day, and he just snapped. We suspect that there were some underlying issues, but he killed both his grandparents and went on to kill almost everyone in his family. His older brother's the only one who survived. He lives in Alaska. 

He lives in a time when he was younger and his parents were still with him. Whenever we tell them that they're no longer alive, he throws a fit and destroys everything in sight. Though, most of the time he doesn't even seem to hear us. I don't know how to help him. He's entirely Delusional.


	28. Human

" _March 12th, 1986: She told my friend Daniel that I had cancer. He was the only friend I had and now he thinks I'm broken. He always asks me how I'm doing, but never believes me when I tell him that I'm ok._

" _April 17th, 1986: She keeps shaving my head. Whenever I ask her to stop, she cuts it in a place no one will see. Small little nicks, but that hurt all the same. I've been stuck in this wheelchair for so long that I don't think I can use my legs anymore anyway._

" _April 19th, 1986: Maybe I am sick. Maybe I just don't think I am because I don't want to be. I think that she just wants to help. She's my mom. She'd never do anything to hurt me on purpose._ " I raised my eyes to look at her, hoping I'd see remorse, or guilt, or sadness. Anything, but there was nothing. She was like a blank canvas, barely blinking back at me. I cleared my throat and went back to reading. 

" _May 27th, 1986: The only time I'm able to write in these journals is at night when I know that she won't be able to see me. Sometimes I try to walk at night, but she has me strapped down so tightly that I can't even move my legs._ " There was still nothing. I flipped through a couple of pages, where more descriptive writings awaited.

" _August 11th, 1986: I talked back once. I told her that there was nothing wrong with me, but she wouldn't listen. I just kept telling her that I was fine. She got angry and hit me. I remember the feeling of her nails raking across my face. There's a red welt there and it hurts. It bled a little, but it wasn't too bad. She didn't clean it for a while and I couldn't reach the cupboard in the bathroom where the bandages are._

" _August 20th, 1986: I was finally able to convince Daniel that there's nothing wrong with me. It took longer than I would've liked, but he knows the truth now and that's good enough for me. He told me that he would confront her and call the cops. I told him that he shouldn't, that she would be angry and hurt him, but he just told me it would be fine and went anyway. I hope he'll be all right._ " At that, she twitched. It was a small movement in her arm, but it was movement all the same. I took that as a sign to keep going.

" _August 25th, 1986: Daniel's dead. I woke up this morning and his body was laid out on the table. She'd bashed his head in. I saw his brain poking out, it was stabbed with bits of bone from his skull. Blood leaked from his body and created a small puddle on the floor. I tried to wheel myself to the bathroom to throw up, but I didn't get there in time. I made it half-way down the hallway, almost to the bathroom, when I threw up. She heard me and got angry. She slapped my face and yelled at me. I can't remember what she said, her voice was so loud she was incoherent._ " I saw her lips twitch into a smile like she was proud of herself for the torment she had put her son through. Disgust rolled in my stomach and I put the journal down. 

"What made you treat him like that?" I asked. She didn't answer, just smiled and swayed. "He killed himself, you know? Before the police found you and you were brought here. He ended his life by slitting his wrists. He probably didn't have access to a more painless way to do it, you know, because he was strapped down in a wheelchair and couldn't reach anywhere high up." It was like she couldn't hear me. She began to hum to herself as she swayed.

"He stayed there for almost a week, dead and covered in his own blood, and you acted like nothing was wrong. No one even knew he was dead until you brought him outside." I watched her, nothing.

"You didn't think anything was wrong, did you? You still thought he was alive. He wasn't the sick one; you were." I'm not proud of this, but I rose to my feet and loomed over her. 

"He's not the one who should've been in a wheelchair!" The nurse watching from the door had to come in and grab my hand. She told me that there was no use trying to get through to her anymore. She was gone. I stared at the dead boy's mother and growled. 

"You're the worst kind of Human."


	29. Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroblake8493@gmail.com

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood, gore, and cannibalism. If you are uncomfortable with any of these elements, please move along. You have been warned. 

* * *

I liked to listen to the screams at night. When no one else was around and I could just lie back and watch them struggle and gasp for air, lying in the pools of their own blood. When the sky was dark and the moon was pale against it, casting a white glow over their bodies, giving them such an angelic look. 

They were nothing compared to her though. She was perfect, even when she wasn't covered in blood and writhing in agony. My sweet, perfect little Natalie. 

She wasn't so little now. She was graduating from college, studying to be a journalist. She was always a curious little girl. 

I don't know why I stayed away for as long as I did. Something just told me that we would get to see each other again and it would be special. I believed that for a long time and just kept doing what I did best. 

They screamed and reached out for me, begging for me to keep going. I'd never been one for fire, but I couldn't help but think they'd look so pretty if there were just a few flames, licking at their skin and making it crisp a dark brownish-red. So pretty. I think Natalie would look pretty like that too, but then her beautiful red hair would singe away and I'd never get to see it again, maybe I'd only do below the neck.

At some point, their screams died down to pitiful whimpers and it wasn't fun anymore. I wanted them to keep screaming. I wanted them to keep thrashing on the rough cement and tell me how much they liked it. Like Natalie always did. She always screamed for me, always cried; she was such a good girl for me. Whenever I needed her to do something, she never disappointed me, not like these nobodies were doing now.

"I'm bored with you," I said, looking down on them. "You're boring me." I was bored with them, but that didn't mean I was going to pass up the opportunity to have a nice meal. I tore into them with my teeth, savoring the taste of their blood exploding into my mouth. It was sweet and tangy, like lemonade or orange juice. I couldn't help it when I moaned into their skin at the taste. 

I never went for their internal organs, it just didn't seem appealing to me, but when I stared at one slowly beating heart, my mouth filled with saliva. I reached into a women's chest and squeezed her heart slowly. She gasped before falling silent. I squeezed it again, but there was no sound. She twitched erratically; that was it. Her heart ceased to beat and I ripped the no longer beating hunk of muscle and brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled floral, something flowery and belonging in spring. I stuck out my tongue and dragged it along the service. A shiver raced down my spine and I bit into it. It was better than their skin. So. Much. Better.

I got too distracted. During my meal, I failed to realize that someone was watching until I heard their stuttering scream. They ran off before I could find them and it wasn't long before I heard sirens in the distance. I crawled back into the alley, my bare feet stepping into the cooled puddles of blood. 

I don't know why I stayed, but I was stilled, cramped in a back corner of the alleyway, watching the blue and red flashing lights bounce off the brick walls. It wasn't raining, but I could hear the sound of waves roaring in my brain. I felt a chuckle escape my mouth, then another, and soon I was laughing hysterically as the policemen came running over to assess the damage. They watched me as I laughed against the wall, the brick supporting my body weight. 

I didn't struggle as they gripped my arms and carried me to their car. I didn't struggle when I was taken to an asylum for both the criminally and clinically insane. I didn't struggle when I was pulled into a straight jacket and dumped in a cell to rot. I'm not entirely sure how long I was there, but it was long enough for the door to be weak enough to get knocked down by someone else who'd gotten out of their own cell.

I managed to get my straight jacket off by using the sharp metallic edge of a table to saw off the leather belt. It took a while, but when I finally got it off, I was able to shrug it off and walk around freely. 

Until I heard the door to the front lobby Open.


	30. Asylum

Trigger Warning!: This chapter contains blood, gore, and severed body parts. If you're uncomfortable with any of these elements, please read something else. Have a nice day. 

* * *

"Why do I have to go?" I knew I was being unfair. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I really wanted to quit my internship as a journalist and just become a real one, but going to a mental asylum wasn't the way I wanted to do it. I didn't want to be wrapped up in the middle of a bunch of psychos; who knew what would happen?

"Because no one else will do it, Natalie, and besides, you've been an intern for almost two years. If you do this, you'll be promoted." My boss said. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, stretching her face up with it; it looked painful. 

I groaned and let my head fell against the desk. I lift my hand and did a lazy wave. "Fine, I'll do it." She gave me a grateful smile. I wanted to smack it off her face, but I refrained. 

The sky was dark and overcast, but the moon still glowed faintly from behind the thick clouds. I huffed, drawing my coat tighter around me. The sky crackled and lit up the background of the tall building looming over me. It seemed like the setting of a classic horror story. I couldn't help the shiver that raced down my spine. I wanted to get back in my car and drive home and forget that all of this had ever happened, but I needed this promotion. I was running out of money quickly and the job I was working now wasn't ideal, so I kept walking. 

The doors were unlocked-which was unsettling-and creaked when I pushed them open. The sound echoed off the walls, paired with the sounds of groaning and distant wails. I froze in the threshold. Distant cries were the only thing now in the otherwise empty air. I didn't like it. Why were there still people here? Why was this place so abandoned?

My boots were loud against the ground, making me cringe. I felt vulnerable, exposed like anyone could up on me without my noticing. I half expected something to come around the corner, crawling along the walls and bloody and barely covered with skin. I shook the image from my head. I didn't want to be here.

I could hear tapping on the walls. Taps and giggles. _Tap-taap, tap-tah-tap-tap, tah-tah-tah, tap-tap-tap-tah, tap, tah-tap-tah-tah, tah-tah-tah, tap-tap-tah._ Then laughter, then the tapping would start again, then more laughter. It was a cycle that had me shaking. My hands fumbled for the recorder in my pocket. I clicked the button and held it up to my mouth. My voice came out a hushed whisper. I don't think the recorder even picked it up.

"The front entree way is empty, but I can clearly hear people moving around. Someone's watching me." As if spurred on by my words, the tapping grew louder. It was still rhythmic, but I don't know what it meant, but I'm sure it was some kind of morse code. 

"The place has been abandoned, but patients are roaming around freely? Do they have food? How are they still alive? How have they not starved to death?"

I felt a hot rush of air hit my ear, and my body instinctively seized. A woman's voice, old and raspy, spoke in my ear.

"I can give you the answer to that, Natalie." I didn't have time to ask her how she knew my name before a hot white pain seared up my arm from my wrist. It was like magma in my nerves. I let out a scream as something wet and heavy spattered on the ground. I reached over with my other hand but grasped at nothing. Through bleary eyes and a vision filled with tears, I could make out my hand, severed from the rest of my body and covered in a surrounding pool of blood. 

What was this Asylum?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tapping was morse code for I love you.


	31. Chance

Being an author wasn't something I'd ever seen myself doing. I'd always wanted to be a journalist, like Natalie, but my entries always sounded more like novels than what they were supposed to be, so I tried my hand at writing and found that I was actually pretty good at it, even when I was attempting it on purpose. 

I still interviewed people, all the stories you read before were real and the people who shared them with me were just as insane as they had appeared to be. Or maybe I was the insane one. Maybe the people I interviewed were all in my head and just pure figments of my imagination. It was hard to tell after all the things I've seen and heard. 

Natalie's stories were always my favorite; I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the pure, unsettling elements of it all. Or maybe because she was the sanest out of all the people I talked to. There was a long time when I wasn't able to talk to her. It was after the clown incident when she lost her memory and I had to move onto other people. I still wanted to write down her story before I wrote down the other's, so I waited. It was almost two years before I got to talk to her again. 

Blake was an interesting case. Her stories were definitely the most haunting and there have been more than a few nights when I've woken up in the middle of the night, sweating and remembering nightmares of teeth tearing and ripping into my flesh. Out of all the patients I've talked to, I liked her the least. She was clearly sick, mentally ill, deranged, however you wanted to put it, but it was the joy she expressed when talked about eating living people that I hated most. But, she never got proper help, and she was dead too soon to get it, though I think it still would've been too late. 

Natalie died sometime after I interviewed her about her last time with Blake. Her torn vocal cords, missing eyes and hand, and broken legs, not to mention the blood loss, was too much. She died during her fifth operation. She was being fitted for a new hand. 

I'm writing this down so that people know that these stories were real. These people were real and they needed help but never got it. I find it sickening that people are content with leaving others to rot as long as it's somewhere far away. I'm sure people like Blake could be helped if others had cared enough to give them a Chance.


End file.
